


The Sea God's Maiden

by ThoughtfulFangirl



Category: Shape of Water, TSoW, The Shape of Water - Fandom
Genre: Child Abandonment, Child Neglect, Gen, Kinda, Origin Story, fairytale inspired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 10:32:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13233837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThoughtfulFangirl/pseuds/ThoughtfulFangirl
Summary: Watching The Shape of Water was such a wonderful ride. I couldn’t help but feel that Elisa’s own affinity for water drove her to seek out a connection with the Amphibian Man. There are so many elements of this movie that come off as a fairytale, that it made me want to write Elisa’s beginning, and how I imagine the fairytale of her history and how it could have shaped her life.





	The Sea God's Maiden

**Author's Note:**

> I chose rating Mature because the movie is Rated R so only people for the mature audiences should know the context of the story, but I don't think there's any material in here that teens and up couldn't handle. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

There was a story in his family. An old legend really. He had seen the yellowed, dusty parchment it had been written down on only once, as a child, but family legend had it that even that had been written down several generations after the origin of the story. It had been a fairytale his great grandmother would tell him their old attic that served as her room, on particularly rainy or stormy nights, that an ancestor of theirs had met and fallen in love with an immortal being. Or was it that an immortal being had condescended to fall in love with a mortal being? He seemed to remember a version of both. The parchment had titled the story _The River God's Consort_ , but he remembered that his grandmother had called it _The Sea God's Maiden_. He supposed it didn't really matter either way; if a child was, as the story said, born from the union, then both creatures were an ancestor.

But it was all a fairytale. Told by a poor family who had heritages migrating from two continents. Who knew from which lineage it passed from; his grandmother and father were passed, and his mother hated those stories. It was probably a common folk tale though, from wherever they had come from, one where the local economy had depended on a nearby body of water. Gods in the shape of anthropomorphic fish. What nonsense!

And yet, as he stared down at his child, his heart tight in his chest, he couldn't help but wonder. When the midwife said something was wrong, he worried the babe was coming out feet first or had the umbilical cord wrapped around it's little neck. He even thought it was a still born babe—with the way the child did not instantly cry out like he understood happened when a child was born.

If only it had been any, any of those things. What was he to do with this... this thing?  

The sounds behind him finally pierced his stricken reverie. Only a few moments had passed since the doctors had pulled the monstrosity forth. His wife was bleeding, and in their confusion about the state of the babe, the midwife and her assistant had turned their attentions to her. His wife was moaning between desperate inquiries over her babe. She hadn't heard it cry out and feared the worst. 

It would be a mercy to let her believe her worst fear had come true, knowing there was no way she could have fathomed that the reality was far worse. He needed to get rid of it, quick. Before she could learn that truth. 

It took him a moment further, as revulsion welled up inside him. The child he'd help bring into this world not only had what initially appeared to be three open sores at either side of its neck, but they were moving, like a fish's gills, like it was grasping for something to breathe. His child, drowning in oxygen. It was revolting, and yet he had to touch it, to get it away from here. No. There was the baby blanket. 

Moving quickly and determinedly, George bent down and wrapped the thing up in the blanket. The midwife's assistant, seeing him grab the thing, hissed, _'demon_ ' as he did so. He met her gaze and said quietly, "It will be taken care of." As he fled the room, he heard the midwife ask, "Where is he going with the child?! I must see to it's deformity!" 

Deformity! This was far, far worse. It was a demon born to haunt him, to tell him he was impure. A punishment perhaps. Well he would take care of this appropriately and beg forgiveness for however he offended The Lord and all would be like it once was.

But where to dump it? He looked around and remembered that if he took the next street east, it would take him to the river. Well, the river could have it. 

\--

"Bessie! Bessie come look! I found the child." Irene and Bessie had heard the cries of a child, but in the fog, they had been unsure where the sound was coming from. It seemed at least in the direction of the river, and so they had set off, checking the area. Now, Irene came across the babe. It was naked and cold, a greenish blue as it lay beside the river. Practically a newborn! How had she survived out here?? 

"Oh thank goodness! All alone?!" Bessie cried, looking around desperately, as if hoping to see someone who had just misplaced their child. Irene knew instantly that this poor thing was abandoned when she saw the state of her: naked, wet, and with some strange wounds to her neck. 

"We need to get her to a doctor. Quick! Leonard is apprenticing with one isn't he? How far from here?" Irene asked as she removed her shawl and began swaddling the child in it, hoping the warm wool would bring some pink back to the baby's flesh—such a sickly, alarming shade she was! 

"This way!" Bessie said as soon as Irene stood, holding the child tight to her chest. "Only four blocks this way." And they hurried off to find the doctor. 

But the child turned out to be remarkably healthy. It was inexplicable. He only called for a wet nurse to come, as the babe was a bit malnourished, and he applied some salve over the poor wounds on the child's neck. It was a sticky substance that would clean them and, hopefully, help them close. The babe was a bit too small for the doctor to comfortably provide stitches. Lastly, some gauze was used to gently but firmly wrap around the babe's neck to keep out any dirt or infection. The little thing wriggled madly and cried not when her wounds were touched, but when the gauze was applied. 

Irene thought it was a silly little thing, for the child to react so differently than she would expect her to. As the doctor worked away intently, she touched Bessie's hand, and they exchanged a glance. They would take the little one to the orphanage where Bessie worked only because they knew they couldn't keep her themselves, but this child would not be alone. 


End file.
